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DISCRETION AND DESIRE

G eorgette was seated demurely at the head of the vast dining table, sipping champagne, when her cousin entered the room.

It was a far more acceptable attitude than that in which the footmen had discovered her when they entered bearing platters of pheasant and vegetables a few moments before.

Most of them had exhibited a commendable degree of myopia.

One—a nervous, freckled thing—had flushed crimson and almost dropped his tray.

She winked at him as he carted away the untouched first course, chuckling to herself when he ducked his head and broke into a shuffling sort of run.

“You did not care for the soup?” Fitzwilliam remarked, peering into the tureen as it was carried past him.

“I have never much cared for things with too little bite. I am rather partial to pheasant, though. Would you do the honours?”

He obliged and brought her a plate of food.

After a moment or two staring in consternation at the seating arrangements, he sat decisively in the chair next to hers and dragged the cutlery peevishly along the table from where it had been set out two places farther away. “Blasted rum idea this,” he grumbled.

“Oh, I do not know. I have rather enjoyed myself so far.”

“Because you were afforded the dignity of eating in the actual dining room. I have just eaten my soup off the lid of the pianoforte.”

Georgette smirked; he had always been the testier of her two male Fitzwilliam cousins. “One can only assume,” she said, taking up her knife and fork, “that your dinner partner was not charming enough to compensate for the unusual dining arrangements?”

“I was allocated Miss Parker.” He stopped speaking and shrugged, his expression nonplussed.

“Aye,” she agreed, laughing. “She is distinctly decorative.”

Fitzwilliam snorted. “It is a pleasure to see you, Georgette. It has been far too long.”

“It has been almost half a year.” She took a sip of champagne before continuing. “I confess, I found it rather odd that Saye should suddenly wish for my company, and that of my friends, after such an age. ”

“There is nothing strange about it. He wished to have a party, and you are our liveliest relation with equally delightful friends. You were an obvious choice.”

“Is that so? It had nothing to do with my dear friend Lilly’s imminent engagement then?”

It clearly had everything to do with it—even Fitzwilliam’s excessive, army-issue side whiskers could not conceal the tinge of guilt pinking his cheeks.

Nevertheless, Georgette could not be easy, for though it was evident Saye admired Lilly, she was entirely unconvinced this party was not simply his means of securing what fun he could have with her before she married someone else.

And though she approved of her cousin’s zest for life, she had no wish to see her friend ill-used.

“He has secured himself quite the reputation as a man who enjoys liveliness,” she continued.

“But I wonder whether anybody could ever be truly satisfied with fun alone. Does he not seek anything more?”

Fitzwilliam would not be drawn. “Speaking of liveliness, why did you insist on inviting Blanderson? What business has he at such an event as this?”

She wondered what Fitzwilliam would have made of Anderson’s liveliness had he seen him a quarter of an hour ago. “It is not business,” she replied with a sly smile. “It is pleasure. You ought to try it.”

Expecting that he would continue sparring, she was taken aback when instead he grew morose and shook his head. “’Tis not my hour.” He sighed deeply, and Georgette thought he might elaborate until the door burst open and her maid stumbled into the room.

“Ah, Prinny! You are back. Excellent.”

“Forgive me, Miss Hawkridge,” she babbled, sidling into her seat in the corner. “I was not aware the second course had started.”

“No matter. I think I am safe from my own cousin. This one, at any rate.”

“Prinny?” Fitzwilliam enquired sceptically.

“Her real name is Regent,” Georgette explained. “It was too delicious to leave it alone.”

“How droll. And where has she been this evening, when she was supposed to be chaperoning you?”

“The poor dear came over faint and stepped out for some air.” Georgette made a private note to congratulate Prinny later for the sterling performance she then gave, wilting in her chair and exhaling pathetically. It did not fool her cousin, who squinted suspiciously.

“Whom did you say your first dinner partner was?”

Georgette batted the question away with a wave of her fork and diverted the conversation in a far safer direction.

The next ten minutes or so proved exceedingly enjoyable as she recalled what an interesting life Fitzwilliam had led and how well he told a good tale.

Still, at a lull in their discussion, she could not resist goading him, just a little.

“What was that about it not being your hour for pleasure?”

Fitzwilliam baulked, though he recovered well and immediately returned fire. “Why did you not call for a different companion, if your maid was indisposed?”

“Because,” Georgette replied in an indifferent tone, “my previous dinner partner is, by your own account, the most insipid person in this house. You cannot think a chaperon was necessary for the few minutes Mr Anderson and I were alone. But never mind that. Tell me more about what is preventing you from having your share of entertainment. As the son of an earl, you cannot want for attention. But, if you say it is ‘not your hour,’ perhaps you have been pipped at the post for the lady you would choose.” She stopped speaking and gasped, her eyes widening.

She had been teasing him only to distract him from asking about Anderson, but her reasoning had brought her to a startling notion.

“You do not hold a candle for Lilly as well, do you?”

“Of course not. Though I should have more chance of success if I did, for Saye might only wound me if I attempted to cuckold him. Darcy would definitely kill me.”

“What would Mr Darcy care if you made overtures to Lilly?”

Fitzwilliam floundered over his answer, planting another idea in Georgette’s mind.

But then his eyes grew wide and he said, rather too emphatically for her liking, “Hold fire! You said it was not business but pleasure that you enjoyed with Anderson. Precisely how much pleasure did the two of you just have?”

“For heaven’s sake, Fitzwilliam, I am not Saye. And I resent your implication. I beg you would not take out your frustrations on me.”

The door opened again, this time admitting a footman who set about clearing the table.

“I beg your pardon,” her cousin said quietly. “That was abominably ill-mannered, and I apologise.”

“I shall forgive you if you answer me one question.”

“Go on.”

“What is so special about Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

She had hit the mark! He averted his eyes and fidgeted uncomfortably—until a footman leant around him to remove the used cutlery, whereupon he abruptly snatched the soup spoon from the servant’s hand and held it aloft. “This has not been used. Did Mr Anderson dislike the soup also?”

Georgette did her best not to laugh. “I cannot recall that we discussed it.”

“What did you discuss?”

“We did not have much opportunity for talking. Time passes so quickly when one is having fun. As it has done again now. Good evening, Mr Emerson.” With the arrival of her next dinner partner, her cousin was forced to let the matter drop.

“It has been fun sparring with you, Fitzwilliam. Perhaps we ought to try it with real swords tomorrow, as we used to when we were children.”

“Do not tempt me,” he replied, before giving her a cursory bow and stamping out of the room.

The dining arrangements were unusual, but Anderson had no objection.

Not when they afforded such a rare opportunity to be alone with Georgette—an opportunity of which they had wasted not a moment.

Now he could scarcely attend to aught but the memory of it and feared he was being awful company for his present dinner companion.

To make matters worse, they were situated in a parlour that he understood was Lady Matlock’s favourite, and newly decorated to boot.

He sincerely doubted her ladyship would approve of it being used as a makeshift dining room, no matter her son’s enthusiasm for the scheme, and he felt compelled to take exceedingly great care with his dinner lest he drop or spill anything.

Regrettable enough that the dining room had been left in such disarray.

He sincerely hoped the spilled wine would not stain.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Miss Goddard enquired.

Anderson tore his mind away from the act that had caused his wine to be overturned, gulped down his over-chewed mouthful, and answered politely that he had one younger brother.

He did not mention that Randalph was a spoilt, dissolute wastrel, or that his older brother had died at fifteen from the complications of a childhood bout of infantile paralysis.

These were hardly dinner table topics, but their omission rendered the conversation stilted in the extreme.

Matters were not helped by Miss Goddard’s own absence of mind.

She seemed equally distracted and looked frequently at the door.

He did not take offence. Apprised by Georgette of almost every other guest’s present state of romantic dissatisfaction, Anderson understood her to be more impatient for Lord Saye’s company than she was displeased with his.

He nevertheless resolved to give a better account of himself tomorrow.